Gunnar Anderson
Bio
Author of The Diary of Sarah Jane and The Diary of Sarah Jane: Between the Lines. Has a bachelor's degree in English from Arizona State University and currently resides in Phoenix with his wife and daughter who inspire him daily.
Stories (50)
Filter by community
Titan VI
Fires ignite in the belly of the beast, roaring to life in the twilight stars. A midnight owl flies from its perch atop the cone of the vessel while it calls a warning to the nearby forests. The General watches the rocket scream towards the heavens with a knot in his stomach and his heart in his throat. The souls on board are his responsibility, and he cannot let them down or those on the Earth. A crimson light flashes and he holds his breath, still watching. The hull is engulfed in flame, and the vessel turns to dust. Failure!
By Gunnar Anderson3 years ago in Fiction
Hammers and Nails
If walls could talk, I would tell you that, unlike children, I am put together without a heart or mind or soul. They begin with my bones; two by fours and two by sixes nailed together and covered in a rough but easily penetrable skin they called drywall. The clothes they put me in was a plain white gown of paint and a lining of flat baseboards. My brothers and sisters were put together in much the same way, but some of them were closed off to me when they sealed the other rooms off from us. I got to see them from time to time when they put in a door in my sibling. We were able to see things out of a glass box they cut out ahead of me. The sights were less than colorful with the only thing visible was a cinderblock wall and the smallest of triangles of the roof next door.
By Gunnar Anderson3 years ago in Fiction
Marooned
He sat back against the log of the collapsed palm tree while sipping from the bottle of rum that sat besides him. The fire he built crackled in front of him and hid the darkening shadows of his ship’s tall masts and white sails behind it. A bright full moon reflected off the surface of the water with the plethora of constellations he studied in order to navigate the seas. Their blinking was blurred in his drunken vison as he glared up at them and hummed shanties until his eyelids slipped closed and he drifted off to sleep with the sound or cracking wood and crashing waves.
By Gunnar Anderson3 years ago in Fiction
Beyond the Dome
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. A vast desolate plane of dirt stretching far beyond the horizon and distorted by the cracks in the fragile glass pane. If she closed one eye and tilted her head, the cracks almost looked like a bare tree sitting in the center of the rising sun; like the nucleus of an atom. The dirt swirled around her illusion and muddied the thought of wanting to go outside their dome shelter. She wondered how the sun might feel on her skin, how the dirt would feel between her fingers, how the cracked dirt would feel under her feet. All her body knew was the temperature-controlled dome and its cold steel floors and walls. The window was the only sense of realism she had from test tube meats and synthesized plant fibers grown from a single leaf that survived the chaos outdoors.
By Gunnar Anderson3 years ago in Fiction
The Siren of Vanavara
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The old Vanavara house was the only structure of the village that was still standing after the inhabitants had been removed following Mikhailov’s visit. The initial story still stood as one where the village had been deemed unsafe for an undisclosed number of reasons, but the villagers paid no mind. None of the observers sent into the village encountered anything like what Doctor Jacobs was now looking at. Even if one of the prior observers had left the candle in the window, it would have been long burned down by the time he arrived.
By Gunnar Anderson4 years ago in Fiction
Harley
Having a dad around was sometimes like having a good day. Growing up, my parents seldom got along with one another which made it difficult to form a real lasting relationship with my dad at times, especially living with my mother almost one hundred percent of the time, but we made do. He would find ways to make it to my games when I played in sports for my church at the time. He made an effort to attend my orchestra concerts all through elementary, junior high, and high school. He even went so far as to be an assistant coach for whatever club football team that I was playing for at the time. No matter how hard it was for us to find a way to spend time together, we found it, whether it was going to Cardinals football games, heading down to Tempe for either an Authority Zero show or Flogging Molly concert, even just getting together to chill and hang out at the mall.
By Gunnar Anderson4 years ago in Families
